Backblast by Candace Irving (miss read books TXT) 📕

Every time she closed her eyes, she could see that blood jetting out. Feel it. Probably would for the rest of her life, just as Durrani had intended.

Even if she'd wanted to confide in Scott, she couldn't. So she let it go and focused on the road.

Islamabad's Srinagar Highway and their shorter jaunt up the more crowded Khayaban-e-Suhrwardy had given way to the imposing gates of their embassy. Thirty-six acres filled with decidedly American buildings, the most impressive of which was that massive, seven-story, glass, concrete and steel embassy complex that had weighed in at a cool three quarters of a billion by the time it'd been inaugurated within the Diplomatic Enclave not too long ago—shortly after she, Jelly and Scott had met. In all, a decent sized bite of the Red, White and Blue smack in the middle of Pakistan.

Only, someone inside was not thrilled with that patriotic outlook.

Within minutes, the Volvo had cleared security and they were winding their way through the grounds of one of the largest US embassy compounds in the world. With its own commissary, post office, diplomatic staff residences and a three-story recreational building complete with an indoor pool, not to mention an on-site well water and waste treatment plant, Embassy Islamabad was essentially a self-contained city.

In light of where it was located, and that it was designed to accommodate a staff of twenty-five hundred, it needed to be.

"We're here."

The driver pulled up beside the striking seven-story chancery and stopped to let them out.

Vetter grabbed his gear from the trunk and Scott snagged her suitcase, leaving her to shoulder her laptop bag and retrieve her crime scene case.

She waved goodbye to the Marine and followed Scott into the marble and glass interior and through several more layers of security, until she'd gained yet another federal ID, this one to hang around her neck.

They finally reached a small, barebones, windowless room with a modest, faux wood-grained table and two chairs, one executive in nature.

Scott set the fabric suitcase Chief Yrle had procured down beside the door. "Sorry it's not classier, what with your lofty presidential status and all."

Regan laughed as she tucked her stainless-steel kit and laptop beside the suitcase. "This will do just fine."

That high-backed, padded chair was decidedly more luxurious than she usually got in the field. Especially on the battlefield.

She couldn't lie though. Right about now, a tiny coffee station would've been a godsend.

"So, what's the OPLAN, Detective?"

Regan removed her suit jacket and hung it from the shoulders of the nicer chair. "Find caffeine, then get started. I have a few folks I need to interview. Basically, those who were on the Griffith before I arrived." It was barely 1500 local time. If she was lucky, she'd be able to get through the leading contenders before the diplomats and staffers departed for home and dinner. "Of course, I also have Brandt's quarters."

"Absolutely. Once the RSO got word about the staff sergeant's death, Maddoc had Brandt's room sealed. He figured someone from the outside would want to take a peek—though I think he expected a Marine." Scott's sandy brows furrowed. "But interviews? Linnet told us the staff sergeant suffered some kind of seizure."

The ambassador had kept her word regarding the cover story, then.

Excellent. Regan could only pray Linnet had kept her trap shut regarding the untimely deaths of Hachemi and his scissor-wielding idol, as well. With some diplomats, you couldn't be sure. But the woman was serving as the president's face in a particularly tense part of the world. Clearly, Linnet was made of stern stuff.

She hoped.

"The ambassador's right, at least as far as we know." Regan removed the scarf John had purchased for her, then bent down to retrieve her computer bag. She set the scarf and the bag on the table in front of the executive chair and withdrew her laptop. "Seizure was the shipboard doc's initial assessment, though he wasn't sure what caused it. Probably something preexisting that the Marine Corps never noticed. We'll know more after the autopsy." That was true enough.

And she did need the confirmation that the autopsy would bring, along with the rerouted ship-to-shore consult with Gil that Dr. Mantia had scheduled.

As for the postmortem? For once luck had been on their side. Colonel Tarrington's chopper had been about to churn up its blades when the Griffith's CO sent word to stand down. Her own ship-to-shore call from Tarrington regarding Brandt's autopsy results should be routing through her mobile phone before nightfall.

Either way, "A few observations and non-medical assessments on the staff sergeant's health by those who knew him best can't hurt." Especially since, while those staffers offered their assessments, she'd be making her own…on them. "You remember the drill. I was closest to the scene, so I was given the job. I'm just dotting the i's—"

"And crossing the t's." Scott hooked his hip onto the edge of her latest temporary desk and nodded. "I haven't been in long, but trust me, it's the same, mind-numbing bureaucracy with DSS. It's the other moments that make up for it—as with CID, I suspect. So, you'll need to grill me too? I've only been here two months and Brandt was gone for the second, but what little I know is up for grabs if you need it."

"I'll take you up on that." Just not for the reason she'd be grilling the others. Since Scott was on temporary orders, he wouldn't be intimately involved with the embassy compound's security, if at all. But he was still DSS, which meant he'd have a unique insight into Staff Sergeant Brandt and his duties. But, although she did need to find out what Scott knew about the Marine, right now what she needed more was what Scott knew about everyone else she'd be interviewing. "Do you have time now?"

The door pushed all the way open.

"No, Agent Walburn does not."

Scott straightened as the owner of that booming voice entered the room. She caught the glint